Chapter Text
If Jabber was anything, he was reliable. Well, mostly.
He might struggle with directions and keeping focus on things outside of a fight but he was reliable damn it! He wasn’t in the front line of Raiders for nothing!
So when the boss told him to “not interfere” with the doll festival, he didn't.
No matter how badly he shook from holding himself back.
No, no. Jabber swore himself to Zodyl, swore himself to the man that saw him as more than an angsty teen who needed the luxury of pain to feel. He had given him purpose, given him something to do. He was the reason he got so many delicious fights, so many powerful opponents.
So, as much as it pained him, he merely watched.
He watched as Mymo turned into--- what was it? A ‘god’?
He tasted the word in his mouth.
A god. A false one at that, judging by the Sphereite’s exaggerated response.
“A human can’t become a god, that’s stupid.” He had said so bluntly, like it was as obvious as asking if he knew how to breathe.
What was a god? And why did it make you so deliciously powerful? Why was it something so outrageous that the mere thought of a human trying to achieve it’s greatness was so laughable?
Jabber didn’t know. He didn’t much care.
All he saw was the body, falling to the ground.
“Vital instruments still work on it! So let’s clean it up!” Zanka called, before crumpling.
You mustn’t interfere. Those were Zodyl’s exact words.
He. Musn’t. Interfere.
“Pathetic.” Called the man in the hat, spiked club to his side like it did anything.
“Your reliance on your vital instrument makes you vulnerable. Pathetic.”
Jabber almost laughed out loud.
Pathetic? PATHETIC?
What a ridiculous assessment.
Jabber had seen the man when he first came in. He was just an average weakling, built just a little better than the rest of them. He carried around that giant club like it was a vital instrument, hilariously. He barely even used it! Relying on the guns on his belt more than anything.
So for him to say Zanka was pathetic-- it was laughable.
Because Mymo had ignored him.
Mymo had looked at him, and seen nothing.
Mymo had looked at him, and walked past him.
Walked to Zanka.
Because for whatever this ‘god’ might be, Jabber knew he saw the same thing as he did.
Power. Strength.
An inexhaustible flame.
Because Zanka was powerful. Powerful enough to be the first person to land a hit on this so-called “god” before anyone else did. Powerful enough to assess its weakness with barely a moment’s hesitation. Powerful enough to run up to it and attack it while everyone cowered in fear.
Because Zanka was not pathetic.
Unlike this man.
This pathetic man who carried a spiked club like it meant something. Who lugged around guns like it didn’t just graze past a god.
Pathetic? No, only he was so.
Still, it was infuriating. Infuriating to watch Zanka cower to this weakling.
Jabber had to force himself to look away.
I must not interfere.
So what if his fingernails carved bloody crescent into his hands? He liked the pain.
~~~~~
Jabber might not seem like it, but he was very patient. He knew how to bide his time and watch. Knew when it was a perfect time to strike.
He knew Zanka was patient too. They were the same, after all.
So why did he seem less patient and more listless?
Jabber had been watching him for days. Almost a week now. Watching him between jobs. Watching him when he had nothing better to do. Just… watching.
That crazy powerful healer in the Cleaner’s had fixed him up without any issue. He was back to his usual strength.
So why wasn’t he doing anything?
Jabber hated it. Hated him. Hated his eerie calm, the silence that surrounded him. The tension that never left his shoulders.
What the hell?
He didn’t actually believe that ‘pathetic’ shit from that weakling, did he?
He couldn’t actually be taking his words to heart?
Could he?
No, no, no-- that was ridiculous!
Zanka had fought against a god. He fought against a god and survived.
Hell, he took a direct HIT from the god! Fatally! And he still kept it pushing!
So how dare he walk around like a lost pup? How dare he walk like he was a hanged man?
How dare he believe that loser's words over him. Believe his words over a fucking god's.
How dare he.
It was infuriating. Jabber couldn’t stand it.
He needed to make him pay.
After over a week passed by, Jabber finally made his move.
Zanka was on some solo mission or something-- whatever. Jabber had overheard the tattooed man mention it was just to get him out of HQ, anyway.
It didn’t matter. All that mattered was Jabber finally had a chance to strike.
He tailed the cleaner like a shadow, watching him make pointless chatter with some other weaklings as he went to get supplies for whomever the fuck.
He waited until he reached an empty alleyway, watched as he slowed his gait to a crawl to fiddle with something in his pocket.
Jabber followed him in.
Mankira was ready, her smaller form on standby to not risk being seen. All he needed was to wait until Zanka came to a stop--
He felt himself get thrown against the wall, metallic spikes pressing into his neck as he grappled with the sudden weight.
“Why are you following me?!” Zanka says, eyes narrowed to slits.
Jabber freezes. Then laughs.
Ha! That’s right! His Zanka wasn’t a moron. Of course he knew he was following him. Of course.
“--Jabber?” Zanka says in surprise, immediately recognising him.
Before Jabber could respond, the claws of the staff suddenly leaped off his throat and onto his torso, caging Mankira against his waist.
He licked his lips.
Ah, and of course he would zero in on the biggest threat without hesitation. He felt those spikes cut into his delicate wrists, trying to contain his excitement.
See? Is this someone who’s pathetic?
“Ah, Mr Bad Attitude! You always know how to give me a good time~”
Zanka didn’t respond, only pressing his staff further into the wall behind him.
“And here I thought I would have to bait the fight outta ya. But I shouldn’t have been worried!” He laughs again.
“Jabber, why are you following me?” Zanka asks again, voice clipped.
He blinked. Oh yeah, why had he been following him?
Oh! Right!
“To make sure you ain’t do somethin' stupid.”
Zanka froze, a flash of surprise passing over his features. “What?”
Jabber rolled his eyes. “Well, ever since that doll festival shit you’re all like, pensive and shit. It pisses me off. I had to make sure ya weren’t gonna do anything stupid like stop fighting or something.”
Zanka openly gaped at him. “Wait how did you--- wait. Why would I ever stop fighting?”
Jabber’s chest warmed at that. Just like he thought. His Zanka wasn’t going to bow to that weakling.
He laughs, feeling silly that the thought even crossed his mind. “Man, you're so right. I ain’t need to worry! Just because some chickenshit from the hell guard said ya were a failure ain’t mean you were going to stop fighting altogether!”
He giggles, unable to stop the blossoming joy from erupting beneath his chest. He should have known Zanka wouldn’t waste his energy on something like that! He really needed to trust his instincts more.
“Well even if ya ain’t interested in bein’ a nobody, how about we still do some fun violence, ey? I’ve been waiting--”
His gaze landed on the man in front of him, and stopped.
Zanka looked weirdly pale. Eyes wide and frantic. “How… how did you know about that?”
Jabber tilted his head in confusion. Why did the atmosphere suddenly get so weird? “Ain’t it obvious? I was watchin’ ya. I saw you take that hit from the god or whatever, and all that shit the hat guy was saying about you bein’ pathetic. At least he took yer instrument with him, ha! I guess even weaklings understand the power our instruments wield! Man, I feel so dumb. Here I thought you were going to try to become some nobody because he said some fuck shit, but I shouldn’t have been worried, really--”
He felt the metal of the staff across his torso tremble.
“You… you saw? Ya saw all o’ that?”
Didn’t he just say that? “Hm? Yeah man! And ya took such a nasty hit from that god thing, too, it was craaazzzyyyyy. I ain’t expect it to hit ya that fast! At least we now have some matching rib scars, ey Mr Bad Attitude?”
But Zanka wasn’t responding. He looked sick. “How… how long had ya been watching me?”
“Eh, since the doll festival. We weren’t allowed to interfere, so I just got to see ya get carried away by the hat guy, mainly. What a loser. Saying you were pathetic! Ha! Couldn’t even land a single hit but 'hit dogs holler,' right? Wait, no, that ain’t the right one. I think it was more like, he was projecting? Iunno, man, I ain’t pay attention to shit like that.”
He suddenly felt Mankira free herself from his hips as he slid down the wall. Zanka’s staff was retreating.
“Jabber, leave.” He said, quietly.
Huh????
“Why? Ain’t we gonna duke it out? C’mon man! I can’t have come all this way for nothing--”
“You can and will. Leave. Now.”
Jabber pouts. “You’re really livin’ up to your name, huh, Mr Bad Attitude? C'mon man, just one fight! I ain’t even have to kill ya this time! Bossman didn’t give me any orders, just told me to keep myself busy. Though, I certainly won’t mind if it gets that far~”
Oooh he can imagine it now! Zanka covered in such pretty red rivulets of blood, body spasming as his breath turns shallower and shallower.
He giggles. Nahhh, he won’t go down that easily, he’s sure!
“Not gonna repeat myself, Jabber. Yer wastin’ yer time.” Zanka had that oh-so-familiar scowl, but it was tempered with something… sad. Maybe even solemn.
Jabber felt strange when he noticed it. “What--”
Zanka sighed and turned to leave the alleyway, as if the conversation was over!
Without thinking, Jabber grabbed his wrist. What was going on?
“Ya can’t expect me to let ya leave.” Jabber says, laughing incredulously.
Zanka glared at him, but it still had that twinge of despair. What the fuck?
“Why not? Ya left me before.”
“Haa? That’s only ‘cause the boss man said so! Ya ain’t think I woulda left ya there, do ya?” He says, affronted.
Zanka fully turns to him now, suddenly seething. “Why not? Ya saw me fail. Ya saw me bein’ taken out of the runnin’ after a single! Hit! And then you saw me get carried away like a sack o’ potatoes! Everyone else was fighting and I failed! Again!”
Okaaayyy, Jabber didn’t like where this was going. “Yeah, so? Ya also landed the first hit. Only one to even try. Anyone with half a brain knew those guns weren’t gonna do shit. Ain’t really a fair comparison when ya gave the cheat code to everyone else.”
“I gave him a fuckin mouth! It made him worse!”
“Why're ya sayin’ that like ya did it on purpose?”
Jabber was truly baffled. Why were they arguing and not fighting? Actually, what were they even arguing about? Were they arguing? It sure felt like arguing.
Why was Zanka looking at him so strangely? So hurt? He was just telling it like it was. Why was Zanka making him feel like he did something wrong? He ain’t even hit him yet!
Zanka forced his wrist out of his hold. “Ya saw me fail. Ya saw me keel over after a single hit. Don’t think I don’t see what you’re doing. Yer here to mock me, ain’t ya? Rub it in my face? Real subtle!”
Jabber blinked at him in confusion. “...I haven’t even started mocking you yet?”
Wouldn’t they have to fight first before they started mocking each other?
Zanka looked at him, furious.
Oh? Were they finally gonna start the mocking-- wait, no, the fighting now?
Man, this was all making him really confused.
But, for some reason, Zanka didn’t move. He didn’t try to attack. Didn’t even retort.
He just stared. That same scowling sadness appearing on his face.
It was really starting to get on Jabber’s nerves.
With a returning scowl of his own, he lunged. If Zanka wasn’t going to take the first hit, he was! Screw him for even trying to be nice enough to give him that!
Zanka dodged with barely any effort, yet frustratingly kept his staff firmly on his person.
“Why ain't ya fighting back?!” Jabber all but roars. He knows he has an opening! Why won’t he hit him?
“‘Cus there’s no point.” Zanka says flatly. He moves out of range of another lunge, stepping back gracefully as the weight of the lunge causes Jabber to stumble.
No point? No point? It was fighting! That WAS the point!
Jabber practically growls, aiming Mankira at the other’s legs as he squats out of his reach.
Zanka parries him flawlessly, using the staff to both deflect and push him backwards, correctly predicting where Jabber’s weight would fall next.
Jabber manages to steady himself at the last minute, using that unsteady leverage to kick at his core as he leaps back.
He gets blocked, again, the staff now used as a lever to push him off his feet.
Jabber hits the ground with a groan, the air pushed out of him as he barely avoids giving himself a concussion in the narrow alleyway.
Man, Jabber really hates fighting in such closed spaces for this reason. It was hard to throw himself at his opponent when he had to constantly avoid chucking himself into the walls.
He feels the staff catch around his throat once again, spikes embedding themselves into the concrete.
Jabber had just enough reach for Mankira to slide across it’s form, trying to nick at the back of Zanka’s hand.
Zanka easily avoids it, merely watching him struggle against the spikes of the staff.
He had that look on his face. The one Jabber adored. Like he could crush him beneath his foot without flinching. He could see the tightly worn edges of rage that were seeping into his movements, no matter how slight and easy he made it seem.
He liked to fight. Of course he did! He was just like him!
So why was he stepping back?
Why did he lift the staff off his throat and shake his head with a click of his tongue?
“There. I won. Now can ya leave me alone?”
Jabber knew that hadn’t been enough for him. He knew that this was barely a fight worth “winning.” They hadn’t even started!
And yet Zanka stepped away, like it was over.
He walked away, that same silence consuming the air around him, the same tension in his shoulders.
How dare he.
“What? So he was right? That was enough for you? You really are that pathetic?” He said, seething.
Zanka froze.
Jabber continued. “Ya really gonna say that was a fight? Ya ain’t even try! Just holdin’ back to hold back! Like a bi--”
“I TOLD ya I don’t subscribe to that nonsense! I don’t hold back!” Zanka turns, furious.
“What? Really? ‘Cus that felt like holding back to me! Like ya already gave up! Did you really get that weak?”
Zanka looks like he was about to retort, before blinking rapidly.
His shoulders sagged. “Yeah. I really did.”
Zanka began to turn away, again. Jabber was really getting sick and tired of seeing his back.
Because what the fuck?
Alright, sure. Whatever.
Whatever whatever whatever whatever whatever whatever whatever whatever whatev-- FUCK YOU.
“THAT’S IT? After all o' that? All that potential, wasted! All that power, for nothing! All because what? Some weakling calls you pathetic once? All because you got hit once? You fail once and that’s it?”
“I didn’t fail once! I failed MULTIPLE TIMES. I was out of commission FOR WEEKS. Because of you! It’s about time ya put that through yer thick skull!” Zanka yells.
Jabber just laughs. “Oh boohoo. Poor little Zanka got hit a few times too hard! Boo hoo, he wasn’t able to fight for a wittle bit! What are ya, three? Get the fuck up and do it again!”
“That’s easy fer a genius like you to say! You don’t have to try at all! You can keep getting up ‘n up over ‘n over again, never stopping, never waiting, never even takin’ a breath! You don’t have to think like I do! Assess ev’ry failure over n’ over again just ta get half as good as what you can do on an off day! You just do! You just are! Everything is fun for ya-- it’s life or death fer me!”
“Naw, thats just an excuse and you know it. It's always been 'bout life or death. Bein’ a genius or whatever the fuck ain’t mean nothin’ on the battlefield! It’s only you and your skill--”
“That's a load of bull and you know it! Mankira can oneshot anyone without breaking a sweat! Do ya know how hard I have to swing Lovely Assistaff to give her half as much damage? You have a PAINKILLER that you can just stick in whenever ya want, and ya can turn yer brain off to attack while knocked out! How does that compare to an average joe like me?! How would I ever win against you?!”
Jabber rolls his eyes. “All I hear is whining, whining, whining. You can bludgeon trash beasts the size of the sphere with that fuckin’ stick--- hell, even hit a fucking GOD with that stick-- then move it around like it barely weighs nothin’ and that’s all it takes for ya to be defeated? A little poison? A single scratch?”
“You--” Zanka screams, suddenly turning and hitting him hard.
Jabber coughs, feeling blood dribble down his nose as the punch smarts. He looks up at Zanka with a smirk. “Aww, was that supposed to hurt? I guess you’re right. You really are that weak.”
He raises Mankira to scratch at his ankle, the swipe slipping off against his fabric as Zanka suddenly kicks him in the solar plexus.
He instinctively tries to curl in on himself, but Zanka is faster and hits him again, the punch making his skull bounce off the pavement.
He blinks away the black spots in his vision, looking back at him with another sneer. He licks the blood that dribbles down his lips. “That all ya got?”
Zanka reaches for his staff, catching Mankira in its mouth before Jabber could move out of the way. “You want to fight so bad? Wanna fight against an average joe like me so desperately? Fine. Don’t come whinin’ to me when ya find out ya wasted yer goddamn time!”
Perfect.
Jabber raises Mankira without thinking, blocking the strike as it scraped discordantly against the wall behind him. Ah, he really should’ve chosen a better location.
He kicks himself up and swipes at Zanka with a sudden burst of speed, using the reach of his legs to force him backwards.
Zanka avoids both strikes, stepping closer to the more open area behind him.
Jabber smirks, continuing to swipe at his face and force him further back.
He could see the realisation on Zanka’s face as he notices his plan, see him forcing himself to plant his feet into the ground to keep himself steady.
But he could only do so much. Mankira manages to cut the tiniest strands of hair as he kneels back, barely avoiding the frontal attack as Jabber steps onto his stomach, making the man topple backwards.
In retaliation, Lovely Assistaff hits his stomach like a pound of bricks against his ribs, and Jabber sees stars. It didn’t matter though, because Zanka finally contends and steps into the open area outside of the alleyway.
Ha!
The second he gets a hand past the gloomy alley, he lets Mankira’s true form erupt.
Zanka, predicting it, uses the end of Lovely Assistaff to pound his wrist against the corner, pushing him into the wall.
Jabber lets the hit land, using the opportunity to use his free hand to cage Zanka into the side with Mankira’s giant form.
Zanka clicks his tongue, pulling his staff faster than he thought possible and blocking the giant claws from scratching him.
Jabber kicks him hard, feeling the satisfying crunch of something before jumping into the more open area to narrowly avoid another hit from Lovely Assistaff. “Too slow!” He jeers.
Zanka crouches into the ground and leans against her, clutching his stomach and wincing.
With a trembling gasp Zanka stares at him from beneath his bangs, glaring at him from under his lashes like he was the devil himself, like Jabber was the reason trash fell from the sky and turned the air sickly.
It was beautiful.
So, so, beautiful.
Zanka takes a deep breath before moving out of range again, the slippery bastard taking advantage of the now open battlefield to regain his reach.
Unluckily for him, Mankira had a bit of a reach of her own. Though her claws were significantly heavier, Jabber knew how to move them so that they were always there to meet his opponents as they landed.
Or at least, she should if Zanka hadn’t decided to balance on Lovely Assistaff like he was made of fucking air, jumping over her claws until he landed on the metallic knuckles keeping her up.
Jabber blinked in surprise, trying to release Mankira from her grip in the concrete, using his other hand to try to push Zanka off.
Zanka merely uses his staff to block him again, turning it swiftly in his palms and barrelling it into his ulnar nerve.
His arm instantly stiffens, refusing to move as Lovely Assiststaff, ever the sadist just like her giver, suddenly punctures through the meat of his elbow with spikes.
Jabber barely has time to scream before Zanka grabs the arm and twists.
He tries desperately to release Mankira from the cement, but she only seems to meld deeper in with every hit of Zanka’s legs.
“FUCK! THAT HURTS!” Jabber finally screams, using the grip on his now broken arm to force Zanka off.
It doesn't work.
He barely has a moment to breathe before getting punched straight under the chin and into his Adam's apple.
He keens, the pain so heavenly it makes his vision turn white.
He doesn’t get to bask it long, though, as Zanka has already released his twisted arm and uses it as leverage for Lovely Assistaff to swing against his throat.
He feels the wet heat of his blood drip onto his arm before recognising it.
Lovely Assistaff… has punctured his jugular.
Oh. Shit.
He collapses onto his side, turning off Mankira to clutch at the ground beneath his jaw.
Oh god, it hurts.
It hurts more than he could ever imagine. Hurts more than he ever could have dreamed.
The adrenaline is kicking in, he can tell, but it could only do so much with the winding pain of his broken arm and his bleeding nose.
The pain roared. He didn’t know pain could roar. He didn’t know it could even sound. The delicious blood rushing to his ears, however, felt like the melody of a lost song.
“Zank… ah… I didn’t know ya had it in ya…” He breathes out, clutching at his throat like it would stop the bleeding any less.
Zanka stood over him, breathing heavily. His glowing eyes were overtaken by the darkness of his blown out pupils, a manic desperation in his gaze as his body shook.
And, for the first time in a while, Jabber felt… fear.
It was something he hadn’t felt in so long that he had forgotten how it tasted.
He stares up at Zanka, mind reeling as he hears the blood drip onto the ground next to his hand.
Drip.
He feels his heart clench, Zanka stepping forward with a silent grace, toes dipping in the blood beneath.
His shadow loomed over his pathetic form.
Drip.
Like an avenging angel, his hair fluttered past his cheeks, baby hairs caressing his skin from the sweat.
Jabber tries to push himself away with his still working hand. He doesn't get far.
Drip.
Jabber’s body shook as a cold panic overtook him.
Zanka was getting closer.
Drip.
Lovely Assistaff was tight in his grasp, 9 feet tall and intimidating as the shadow of the evening sky set upon her Giver’s features.
There was nowhere to hide, even if he could crawl away. Even if he ran-- She would find him.
Drip.
All Jabber could see was the whites of Zanka’s teeth, mouth spread wide with glee.
Drip.
He towered over him, fiery light turning his back and hair molten-- like he was being spun into gold.
Drip.
Ah.
Perfect.
Fuck, he was so perfect.
“N’t sah pathetic, now, huh…?” Jabber says, unable to resist.
There was a moment's reprieve, before something cracked.
Suddenly Zanka had snapped out of his reverie, his eyes widening when he took in Jabber’s crumpled form.
“Wait. Did I-- Are you--? No-- wait, fuck are you--- no. No please.”
Jabber hummed, flinching as Zanka’s hands hovered over him.
Zanka leaned back like he had been the one slapped. “Holy shit. You’re--- Oh shit. I can’t believe I did this, I--I…”
He starts to hyperventilate as Lovely Assisstaf turns back into a stick, trembling like a leaf in his grasp.
“Wh…What have I done…?”
Jabber blearily blinked up at him, feeling a strange rush of confusion and dread.
Maybe this was how dying felt like?
“No. Don’t say that. Yer not dying, ya-- ya can’t be!”
Hm… did he say that out loud?
Something soft wrapped around his throat, a pressure so gentle it almost felt like a caress. Jabber felt his heart squeeze in panic-- until he realised it was Zanka wrapping a part of his sleeve around him.
“I’m so sorry. I’m so so sorry. I didn’t mean ta-- I-- I was just---”
Why was Zanka crying? He won. Just like he wanted.
“I didn't want to win like this. I didn't-- I didn't think I could-- that I would--”
Despite being the direct cause of his pain, Zanka's gentle touch was oddly comforting. Maybe it was comforting because he was the cause.
“Ya goh rough han's…” Jabber murmured.
“Don't speak, ya fuckin’ moron! Yer already bleeding out-- yer gonna make it worse!”
Jabber tries to laugh, but for some reason it just feels wet. “Mmh. I li'e i’ tho… ya hands…”
He was struggling to keep himself awake.
Hm… it's probably fine to take a nap, right? Not like he's got anything he needs to do today. He'll just call Cthoni later.
He snuggles into the warmth against his pulse, sighing contentedly into the rough hands caressing his face and the searing touch fluttering over his eyes and cheeks.
Damn. Some still lucid part of him thinks.
What a way to go.